Life Without My Mom

I am able to see the good things in my life that still remain. I am not that far gone, my friends.

I have my daughter, I treasure her every moment of the day.

I made the right choice and was then presented with the gift of my boyfriend, who brings me sunshine, kindness and love…things that I have never had in a romantic relationship before.

I have a handful of loyal friends who haven’t abandoned me in my time of intense sadness. I look up to the heavens and am thankful for their faithful presence in my life.

I’ve felt the touch of God upon my bowed, sorrowful head and have found my faith in Him again, after so many years of traveling on the wrong path filled with evil men and wicked deeds that I readily tolerated.

My life without my mom, it’s something that I always knew would come. When I was younger, the thought would creep into my mind, mostly at bedtime, that one day she would be gone.

The years passed as they do, she turned 60…65…70. I’d roll over and shut my eyes so tightly, until the idea melted away and then I would sleep well in the knowing that in the morning, she would call me like she always did.

Why do I try so hard to pretend that I’m okay when in reality, I am so full of heartache?

My life without my mom, it’s a lonely vista of unspoken emotions, filled with my regrets and my deep desire to hold her again with every cell in my body.

My grief is unbearable.


A Bittersweet & Blessed Birthday

I just wanted to pop in real quick and write about my birthday yesterday.

I survived it. Honestly, I ended up feeling loved and extremely grateful, although I was also so heartbroken.

I kept expecting my phone to ring and then hearing my mom on the other end, singing happy birthday to me like she always did every year. It lasted the entire day, up until it struck midnight.

I knew it wasn’t going to happen, but the mind loves to fuck around with itself, doesn’t it?

There were birthday wishes on Facebook from family and friends. My cousin said that she’s taking me to see The Fab Four, a Beatles tribute band, on August 31st. I’m looking forward to that!

My daughter left me gifts of the chocolate kind around the house to discover.

My boyfriend and his mom picked me up and we went to visit his uncle to play Rummy. His cousin was there, so that was also a nice surprise. I really enjoyed their company and spending the day with them.

Steven bought me a personalized cake to celebrate turning the big 45.


Note the bowling ball and pins, plus the frosting is my favorite color.

After we left, Steven treated us to a birthday dinner at a local Mexican restaurant. I don’t recall seeing him ask the waiter, but suddenly a slew of waitstaff came out and put this heavy hat on my head (sombrero?) and then sang to me.


I got to talk to my aunt on the phone for about an hour once I got home. That was really nice.

Steven and so many others made a much dreaded day very lovely. I’m so grateful and blessed. I know that my mom was smiling down and like my cousin told me, when the birds sang in the trees yesterday, that was mom’s way of letting me know that she was there.

Today is the 33rd anniversary of my father’s passing. It doesn’t matter how many years ago it was, I still miss my daddy.

This pain isn’t as fresh, but I’ll never truly get over it.


Blurry, but I love that look on his face.

But really, I don’t think that I ever want to get over it.

Because that’s what love is all about, as painful as it is.

Annoying Mosquito

Sometimes, I just don’t want to be here anymore.

I’ve fought hard and continue to try to banish this unwelcome emotion and for periods of time, I’ve even succeeded. I’ve gotten too cocky about it a few times, thinking that I’ve finally accomplished what seems like the impossible.

But what’s really near impossible is being able to just talk about it with someone without scaring them so badly that they either:

A. Avoid me like the plague, which happens 89% of the time

B. Try to lock me up in the psych ward

It seems to me that suicide is becoming more of an epidemic because people just don’t want to get involved.

I would go back to weave some nice baskets if I honestly thought that I’d follow through with a plan to end this thing called life once and for all. I really would, even though the accommodations and quality of care were less than desirable.

They stopped my pain medications, gave me insulin when I didn’t need it, upped a med that was making matters worse and their idea of a mattress absolutely destroyed any chance that I’d be able to sleep, heal, rest and not wake up in severe pain every morning.

They also served me decaf coffee.


Yet as much as I fear having to go back inside, in order to save my life, I guess that I fucking would.

It helps me when I can talk about what I am experiencing openly without being afraid of the assumption that I’m holding a steak knife across my throat. 

I really just want somebody to listen to me and that was what my mom did, bless her beautiful soul.

Here’s the craziest thing…I can go a few weeks without the thought even crossing my mind. Actually, the idea of it absolutely appalls me to my very core and I’ll wave my hand at it like it’s an annoying mosquito (that I know deep down will be back eventually to suck at my blood.)

Since my mom died almost three months ago, the notion to bring on my own demise has come back around hot and fresh, just like my morning cup of caffeinated coffee.

I’m also astonished how my grief is being handled by the few friends that I claim to have.

They mostly avoid me like the plague.

It’s blaringly obvious (more than before) that I don’t have many people who consistently check up on my mental state.

Even then, what is there to really say?

It’s really hard for me to make friends and it’s always been that way. I don’t know if it’s because I’m a introverted empath or if it’s because I’m just a weirdo with a mood disorder.

Hell, it’s probably both.

Back in the old days when I still was able to work for a living, I socialized with my coworkers. Those relationships fizzled out once I went on disability, which my mom had told me meant that they really weren’t my friends anyway.

She always had a knack for explaining the world to me, especially when it came to relationships.


I’m starting to think that I’m just destined to be on again/off again suicidal. When I look forward at the big picture, it’s the one thing that loves to land on me, trying to suck me dry.